


memorization

by xLovelyLittleRaindropx (orphan_account)



Category: GOT7
Genre: Fluff, M/M, lowercase intentional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:29:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7303234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/xLovelyLittleRaindropx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>everyday the same boy comes into mark's workplace (a public library) & mark wants to learn about him</p>
            </blockquote>





	memorization

_i want to memorize you_

* * *

 

he came in everyday at 10 am with cold coffee in his hand and dark circles under his eyes

he always sat at the table in the far right, cornered between health and natural science.

he always sat in the same spot (far chair on the right side if you faced it from natural science), plugged his laptop charger in the same outlet (the one behind the small coffee table; bottom because the top was too wobbly), and opened the same window (a blank word document.)

at 2pm he would get up and walk to the desk and ask for the bathroom key. i knew this because i always was there to hand it to him. he would give it back right after, thank me, and walk to the music theory shelves.

he never picked up a book though.

then he’d sit back down.

he’d leave at 7pm he would unplug his charger and stuff his laptop under his arms.

everyday he would leave numbers written on the table in a sharpie i didn’t even know he brought.

(he didn’t. it was mine.)

 

* * *

 

_i want to close my eyes and learn the contours of your face with only my fingertips_

 

* * *

 

jackson.

jackson.

jackson.

that was his name.

he came up to me one day at 2pm and as my hand reached for the bathroom key, i heard a crisp voice whisper.

“my name is jackson.”

jackson.

i felt cosmics collide within my brain as my tongue stuck to the inside of my mouth. it wasn’t until this wonderful stranger (jackson) laughed (and what a beautiful noise it was; i wanted it to be the soundtrack played on repeat throughout the rest of my life) that i realized my own words had dripped off of my lead tongue.

“mark...my name is mark.”

“i know. your name is on the nameplate.”

a finger pointed to my desk as i felt a fire erupt in my cheeks. i clutched the key harder in my hand as i nodded. my brain raced with the thoughts i wanted to process into noises and coherent syllables. i said the first thing that came to mind.

“numbers…”

“mine.”

“yours?”

he smirked and my brain felt a key of it’s own twisting the lock. it was his. his number. for me.

he left at 2pm that day.

 

* * *

 

_i want to know your flaws and perfections_

 

* * *

 

jackson is made of many things.

passion.

deep passion for all he does. even simple sentences. each syllable dripping with the utmost craftsmanship as if his tongue had sculpted each and every sound. even simple actions. the movement of his muscles like an orchestra of body parts making the best of it’s sheet music, as if it was written just for them. i watch him make the subtlist of actions; breathe in, breathe out. and i see his very being breathing with the passion for life- for being alive.

jackson doesn’t scrape the surface of being human, but instead dives in deep; i feel like he is drowning in the sensation of being a living, breathing, feeling, hurting, wishing, hoping creature.

i think it is beautiful.

i think he is beautiful.

he is reckless and untameable; who needs to be the opposite in this life? he drags me to the park on a cold night.

1am

i look to him to give him a questioning look, as if i should be questioning the entity that is jackson wang. he smiles; a full on smile that is almost brighter than the moon that is shining on us.

“mark” he whispers. “mark.”

we fall asleep as he renames the constellations for us.

 

* * *

 

_i want to learn them all_

 

* * *

 

he stays in everyday, mornings beginning at 10 am with warm coffee in my outstretched hand and stars in his eyes.

he always sits at the table telling me about his dreams, cornered between the chair and my body in his lap.

he always sits in the same spot (far end on the couch if you faced it from the coffee table), plugged his laptop charger in the same outlet (the one behind the ironing board ; top because the bottom was too wobbly), and opened the same window (a thoroughly used word document.)

at 2pm he would get up and walk to our room and ask to go out for lunch. i knew this because i always was there to say yes to him. he would kiss me right after, thank me, and walk to the closet to put on a jacket.

he never picked his own though.

then he’d wrap me in his arms and lead me out.

he’d shut his laptop at 7pm. he would unplug his charger and stuff me into his arms.

everyday he would leave notes written on the my pillow in a sharpie i didn’t even know he had.

(he didn’t. it was mine.)


End file.
